Death at the Day Lily Cafe (6 page)

“I will next time.”

Since the day I'd discovered Megan Johnston's body on the banks of my property over a year ago, Joe Wilgus and I shared a prickly relationship. My investigation had more than irked him; in fact, it exposed a nest of corruption and led him into AA. He was still sober but now struggled with an insatiable craving for sweets. I was not surprised to see him in the café. He had come in every day we'd been open and ordered two iced maple scones and a black coffee to go.

The sheriff was a handsome man in a rugged sort of way. He was in his early fifties and had a thick head of dark hair that he sculpted into a pompadour of sorts. It wasn't hard for me to rankle him, and I knew I got under his skin. I would venture a guess it still nagged at him that I had uncovered a murder he'd tried very hard to ignore.

“The usual?”

He didn't bother to respond. As I picked up the pastries with a piece of tissue paper, Custer approached with an empty mug in his hand. He stopped and took in the sheriff. Joe Wilgus lifted his head slowly and locked eyes with him. I glanced over at Custer. He looked away and fidgeted with his cup. I filled it quickly, and he disappeared through the swinging door.

The sheriff shifted his weight. “That delinquent ever tell you he got fired from his last job?”

“You mean Custer?”

“Who else was just standing here?” He fixed the plastic lid onto his cup. “Well? Did he tell you?”

I hesitated, tempted to lie, but I was terrible at it. “No,” I said. “He didn't tell me.”

The sheriff stared at the door. “I'll be back.” He stood and headed for the kitchen.

“You can't—” I rushed to the door but jumped back when it swung toward me. I heard muffled voices and tried to make out what they were saying. The sheriff was speaking angrily to Custer.

“That looks dangerous,” Glenn said. “What if someone comes out of the kitchen?”

I put my index finger to my lips.

Glenn frowned and said in a loud whisper, “I need a latte.”

I froze when I heard the sheriff's voice again. “You know anything about him getting shot?”

“He's talking about CJ,” I whispered back. “He's asking Custer what he knows.” I jumped back when the door burst open. The sheriff strode over to the bar and picked up his bag and cup.

“So, Sheriff Wilgus, you're actually conducting an investigation this time?” I crossed my arms.

He pointed a finger at me. “You mind your own business, Hart.”

“I was just wondering why you would question Custer if you're so certain it was Lori who killed CJ?”

“How do you…?” He shook his head in disgust. “I asked him because I don't trust him. And neither should you.” He placed his hat on his head. “I
am
conducting an investigation. And I am going to prove Lori Fiddler killed her husband in cold blood. That make you happy, Hart?”

“No,” I said. “It's all a horrible tragedy, if you ask me.”

“Nobody
is
asking you. And if I hear you've been nosing around again, you will learn the true meaning of misery.”

I watched him go. Muscle memory sent a vibration of fear through me. So, I thought, it's me versus the lawman again.

 

E
LEVEN

Dream big, my mother used to say. I know it's not the most original of encouragements, but I took it to heart. She had died very quickly after a breast cancer diagnosis five years previously. I missed her every day. But I knew she was with me. On warm summer evenings I could feel her sweet breath on the back of my neck; I could hear her whisper in the trees, telling me to be strong and know I was loved. I could smell her perfume when I wandered through my rose garden and feel her touch when my hands were deep in a mound of bread dough. I learned my love of cooking—or nourishing, as she called it—from her. She was the heart of my family, and our farm was where everyone gathered for the holidays or, sometimes, for no reason at all.

And now I hoped to create a gathering place of my own. When I designed the layout of the café, I made certain there would be room for at least eight bar chairs under the marble counter. Once I figured out how to stock my liquor, beer, and wine, I hoped people would stop in to catch a Ravens or an Orioles game on the flat-screen TV behind the bar. But until then, it was where we sat the overflow.

A ruddy-faced man was my first customer to be seated at the bar that day.

“Hello, missy,” he said with an Eastern Shore twang.

“Hello,” I said. “Welcome to the Day Lily Café.”

He leaned back and crossed his hands over his sizable stomach. “Everybody's been telling me how good the grub is here, so I thought I'd come in and see for myself.”

“You just made my day.” I set a place mat and menu in front of him.

Glenn approached with a wide grin. He extended his hand to the man and said, “Jackson. What a pleasure to see you here.”

“Commissioner,” he said, and shook Glenn's hand. “How many jobs do you have, anyway?”

“I wear too many hats. But don't we all?” Glenn said. “Have you met Rosalie?”

“Not officially.”

“It's nice to meet you,” I said.

“Likewise. Jackson Crawford's the name.”

“Thanks for stopping in.” I smiled.

“I've been looking forward to coming here ever since you put up the sign. I didn't think I'd have the time, but it appears now I have loads of it.”

“Coffee?” I said.

Jackson nodded. “Black, please.” He picked up the mug as soon as I set it down in front of him. I watched as he took a large gulp. “Say, that's a good brew. Nice and strong.”

“Rosalie is an excellent barista,” Glenn said. “Jackson, if you don't mind me asking, why aren't you at work over at the college? Aren't you managing the construction of the new dorm?”

For the first time since he entered the café, Jackson's smile faded. “They laid off all the contractors. Brought in some folks from away.”

“But why?” I said. “Did something happen?”

“Oh yeah. Somebody stole a bunch of money from the construction site. Only the foremen and contractors were allowed in the trailer where they kept the cash, and only if the CFO was in there. So until someone fesses up, we are all forbidden from the site.”

I thought about what Lori had said, how CJ had been tense since he was laid off. He must have been a contractor, too. I wondered if there was some sort of connection. Money had been stolen, and a man had been shot. Glenn studied me. No one knew me better than he did, and I would guess he was making the connection as well. “I should get back to work,” he said, and gave me a surreptitious wink.

“Would you like to order breakfast, Jackson?”

“Yes, ma'am. You know, I may not look like it”—he paused and looked down at his round belly—“or maybe I do. But I consider myself to be sort of a foodie.” He smacked a hand on the menu. “I'm not even going to open this. You just bring me the best you got.”

“How about the special?”

“I'm in your hands. And I can't think of a better place I'd rather be.”

I typed Jackson's order into the computer and delivered food to several tables. Gretchen was still seated, with an empty plate before her. At least she ordered, I thought. She was reading the
Post
and sipping tea. I was curious to get to know her. And I admired any woman who was drawn to Glenn's quality. “Would you like some dessert?” I said.

She looked up at me with warm, honey brown eyes. “That sounds tempting.”

I was caught off guard by her British accent. Now I was even more curious.

She laced her fingers together and rested her hands on the table. “But I don't want to overstay my welcome.”

“Then why don't you come and sit at the bar? I'll have Glenn bring your check to you there.”

“Oh, that would be lovely.” Gretchen tucked her paper under her arm, picked up her handbag and teacup, and stood. “I'll just have a little nosh.” She wrinkled up her nose and smiled. I watched as she walked to the bar and perched on the stool next to Jackson.

“What is she doing?” Glenn stood next to me.

“Having a nosh,” I said, and grinned.

“She's eating something
else
?” Glenn shook his head. “How does she stay so slender? The woman eats volumes.”

“I like her eyes. They're very kind.”

When I returned to the bar, Gretchen and Jackson were deep in discussion about Devon County's smart-growth plan. “I went to the meeting last night,” Gretchen said. “The farm behind my inn is for sale. There's a development company that wants to put in a senior housing development.”

“As much as I'd like to get in on the construction side of it,” Jackson said after draining his coffee, “they can go build it somewhere else. We need to preserve this county as best we can.”

“I was hoping to talk to Mr. Breckinridge about it.” Gretchen's feet dangled from the high stool. Her posture was perfect.

Crystal appeared by my side. She studied Jackson. “You know, there's a lotion at the natural food store that is good for rosacea.”

“Crystal!” I said.

“Oh, blimey.” Gretchen covered her mouth and tittered.

“Is that right?” Jackson said. “Well, there's no denying it. I drink some coffee or a glass of bourbon, and my face gets red as a beet.”

“The lotion is made from emu oil.” She scratched her nose. Her rounded nails sported black polish. “You also might have a food allergy, probably to dairy.”

“Hang on,” Jackson said. “Did you say
emu
oil?” He shook his head. “And there's no way I'm giving up dairy. Everything tastes better with a slab of cheese, and that's a fact.”

“Agreed,” Gretchen said. “Or a dollop of sour cream.”

Crystal tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “It might also be yeast.”

“Okay, well, thanks for your help, Crystal,” I said, feeling my own face start to redden in embarrassment. “Do you need something, sweetie?”

“Nope. I'm good.” Crystal spun around and headed into the kitchen.

Once she was out of earshot I said, “I'm so sorry, Jackson. Crystal is a lovely young woman, but I'm finding she has a few boundary issues.”

“No offense taken.”

“Perhaps she could use a three-second delay,” Gretchen said, and nibbled on a brownie.

“Let me at least go get your breakfast,” I said, and followed Crystal into the kitchen. Several specials were waiting under the heat lamps. Pride puffed out my chest. The egg bake was in a medium-sized oval ramekin, the melon at an angle with the basil cream dripping down the sides, and the small mound of salad made it a perfect triangle. Custer had rimmed the outer edges with more basil cream slashed with filigrees.

“Everything looks perfect, Custer. Are you sure you weren't a chef in your previous job?”

“I'm sure,” he said as he loaded a dish tray.

Crystal picked up her order and backed through the door.

“So what was your last job?”

He stopped loading and looked at me, a frown turning down his lips. “Why do you want to know that?”

“Just curious. It's good to get to know you better, is all. I mean, we are all working in close quarters. And I hope we will be for a long time.”

Custer hesitated. “I was in construction. Helping over at the college.”

“I see. So what sort of work? Drywall? Cement?”

“Floors.” He turned away and picked up an egg. “Problem is, my old boss is dead now.”

 

T
WELVE

By four p.m., our chores were finished and it was time to go home. Glenn untied his apron as he approached. “So what do you think about the stolen money?”

“You mean do I think there's a connection with CJ's murder?”

“That's exactly what I'm asking.” He wadded his apron and stuffed it in a nylon bag I was going to drop off at the laundry.

“I thought I might wander over to the campus and see what's up,” I said. “Do you think they'll still be working on a Friday afternoon?”

“Someone will be there. I think they are in a bit of a rush. They've promised those rooms to incoming students this fall. It must be pure chaos with all the contractors being laid off.” Glenn rubbed his chin. “It seems so harsh to blame everyone. I remember my mother doing that. Make us all stand in line until one of us confessed to the infraction.”

“As I recall, President Carmichael is still at the helm.”

“Yes, that he is. You know, I haven't seen anything about it in the paper. Seems like that would be headline news.”

I put my own apron in the bag and cinched the string. “I haven't had a chance to read the paper in weeks.” I propped the bag against the bar.

“Never underestimate the power of the written word.” Glenn smiled. “So, my dear, do you have a theory?”

I rested my elbows on the bar. “Nothing to clear Lori, but I think there could be a connection with CJ's murder. If CJ had something to do with the stolen money, and if it's as much cash as Jackson suggested, it might have motivated someone to go after it and him.” I checked the clock. “I better head over there. I want to get home before Annie goes out.”

“Custer again?”

I nodded. “It's good for a daughter to look into her mother's eyes before she goes out with a boy, don't you think? Especially one as mysterious as our Custer.”

“You have always been able to convey a great deal with those brown eyes.” Glenn thought for a moment. “But you're also very good at concealing what you're thinking. That's a true talent. No wonder Doris asked you to help her.”

“What about you, Glenn? Plans for tonight?”

“Oh yes. Big plans. First I'm going to take a long shower, then watch the news. Then read all of my papers and probably fall asleep while doing it. Then…”